


Shiver

by Cairo



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Action, Drama, F/M, Gen, Horror, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Character Death, NaNoWriMo 2015, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cairo/pseuds/Cairo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jamie and his friends accidentally guide something even darker than the Boogeyman into the world, Jack steps in but quickly finds himself in over his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, readers! I'm not positive on how clear I was explaining some things during the story, so I thought I'd give you some information up front; feel free to skip this note if you'd like to avoid any potential spoilers. The prologue takes place three years after the events of the movie; in that time, Ms. Bennett remarries - a Christian and a police detective, Christopher Graves - and changes the family's names to Bennett-Graves, a move Jamie strongly opposes. Sophie is in Kindergarten, a bit early but she's a bright kid; and having never known her birth father, she's very close to Christopher. On the Guardians' side, Pitch has been quiet since the events of the movie and the Guardians haven't heard from or about him once during all that time. Part I is told from Jamie's POV and takes place over a year after the Prologue; and Part II is told from Jack's POV and picks up immediately where Part I left off.
> 
> I have liberally butchered canon from _The Guardians of Childhood_ , but the movie timeline has been left alone. We'll just pretend they're two separate things. 
> 
> This is an unedited, unbeta'd draft; expect some rambling, unnecessary scenes, missing scenes, more than a few typos, and -- in general -- a lot of mistakes. I intend to rewrite the story following the completion of this manuscript, but in the meantime I hope this will entertain you nonetheless. Please feel free to critique and criticize as you read, I'd greatly appreciate it! And fair warning, I'm doing this for NaNoWriMo, so those of you in the know have an idea of what to expect on that front, ahaha.
> 
> This is a fan-created work of fiction; the author does not claim to own Rise of the Guardians or The Guardians of Childhood, which belong to Dreamworks and William Joyce, respectively. No profit has been made from this work.

On the day Jamie Bennett turned 11 years old, he was given an Ouija board.

This didn't surprise anyone. From the time he could read Jamie had been utterly fascinated with the fantastic side of life: spirits and sprites, Bigfoot and Nessie, aliens... he had always believed with a fervent, hopeless passion, in all those fantasies of childhood. Even now he had reached the age when most kids stopped believing, Jamie continued to stay up trying to see Santa or tell stories about the snowball fights he'd had with Jack Frost. This was no secret among his friends and family, so it was no surprise when Jamie unwrapped a large-ish blue package containing the Ouija board at his birthday party.

What did come as a surprise was Jamie's totally apathetic reaction.

"I thought you would've gone nuts over that Ouija board," Pippa said thoughtfully while Jamie unwrapped her gift (a book on the scientific hypotheses on extra terrestrial life, which Claude pronounced as "typically Pippa"; only she or an adult would give a kid something so boring).

"I don't need an Ouija board to talk to the Easter Bunny or Jack Frost," Jamie pointed out, admiring the book. He and Claude disagreed on many things; this was one of them. "You guys know that. We can already see them and talk to them as long as we believe."

"Those things are creepy, anyway," Cupcake said. Monty nodded vigorously beside her.

"Well, I want to try it," Caleb said, smiling and nudging Claude with an elbow.

Claude delivered a punch to his brother's shoulder in reprisal. "Yeah, whatever. You guys will believe anything."

"I'm not sayin' I believe in anything," Caleb interjected, not quite dodging Claude's punch while delivering a kick under the table. "Just sounds kind of like fun."

"Yeah, sure, maybe there are spirits floating around that you don't believe in yet. I'm sure they'd just love to talk to you through a Oujia board," Claude rejoined, avoiding Caleb's kick and delivering one of his own.

"Ow!" Caleb complained.

Jamie continued unwrapping gifts while the twins started another one of their play-fights. "It might be fun if we meet new spirits like Jack Frost," he said, looking up from Cupcake's gift (what could only be described as a manly baking set). "None of us could see Jack Frost until we believed in him. This could be a new way to make contact with others like him."

"It'd be fun if we met somebody like Jack Frost," Pippa agreed, turning a half-smile in Cupcake's direction; being the only two girls present apart from Sophie, Pippa and Cupcake had been doing that a lot during the course of the party.

Cupcake caught on to whatever Pippa was implying and said, dryly, "I dunno about that."

"I think it's a bad idea," Monty ventured, toying with the gift the twins had given Jamie (his very own drone; Monty was irredeemably jealous and already knew he'd be spending more time at Jamie's just to play with it).

"You know, I think I've always wanted to try something like this," Claude said, cheerfully swapping sides in an argument nobody knew they'd been having until he did so. "C'mon, Jamie."

"Yeah, why not?" Cupcake said, interested despite herself.

"Well," Jamie said, meeting his friends' eyes haltingly around the table, "if you guys want to. Sure."

Caleb and Claude cheered, Pippa grinned, and Cupcake rolled her eyes. Monty suddenly lost his appetite for cake and ice cream.

It was over cake and ice cream that the kids began arguing over the board. Monty wanted to play with the board immediately to get it over with, but Caleb and Claude thought they should wait until nightfall; the other kids fell somewhere in between. Eventually somebody decided the argument by locating a calendar and declaring that day to be a new moon, and the kids decided on midnight. After all, what could possibly be better than playing with an Ouija board on the night of a new moon?

After securing permission for a slumber party, they began hammering out the particulars. The final conclusion was to set up the board in the main upstairs bathroom because it was the only room with a large enough mirror for all of them to see in — a mirror, Pippa insisted, was an absolute necessity in cases like this; she'd read all about them. Jamie, getting in to the spirit of the game, came up with the candles when Cupcake made an offhand remark concerning séances at night: they were the battery-powered kind, pink and encased in flower-printed class, and smelled like apple bourbon, but Jamie assured his friends they would do in the absence of any real candles.

Monty brought a flashlight.

The time spent waiting for midnight was one of general cheer, and the kids hardly noticed it. They might have missed midnight entirely if Pippa hadn't happened to glance at Jamie's stepdad's ancient grandfather clock. It didn't work (and, according to Jamie's stepdad, never had), but it reminded her that she had been keeping the time, and so, at a quarter to midnight, she whispered dramatically, "it's time."

The kids filed to the bathroom, tiptoeing past Sophie's room to keep from waking her. The door clicked shut silently behind them.

* * *

In point of fact, the Bennett-Graves household was in possession of three bathrooms: a cramped half-size located in the master bedroom; a small, but fully furnished bathroom located on the top floor; and a deluxe, full-sized bathroom located in the cluttered, half-built basement. The full-size lacked running water for reasons Jamie's stepdad knew of but had yet to address. It was something his mother thought of on occasion, but she, too, didn't hold it high on her list of priorities; the basement was rarely used and there were more important things to do. In all honesty Jamie had not considered the basement bathroom — and it's much larger surface area, including a much bigger mirror — because he had never used it. So it was that he and his friends packed themselves into the smaller bathroom upstairs.

"Uh, how are we going to do this, exactly?" Cupcake asked once everybody was shut in. Her dry-voiced question was a valid one: while Jamie had always known this bathroom to be comfortably large enough for two small kids to brush their teeth in, it became much smaller than initially expected with six tweens and a board game stuffed inside.

Monty, who was hovering near the door with no intention of moving, flipped the light switch on. "We need to see to set it up, at least," he defended himself when somebody protested loudly.

"Yeah," Cupcake agreed unexpectedly. "Those candles aren't enough to see the board by."

"Wait, wait, wait. Monty, didn't you bring that flashlight?" Claude said suddenly, a slow smirk unfurling across his face.

"Uh... yeah?" Monty said with a sinking suspicion of where this thread of conversation was headed.

Claude turned to Jamie in triumph; Jamie caught on immediately.

"I have another one in my room, just a sec!" Jamie said, and, dodging Monty, disappeared around the door and down the hallway.

Once he was gone Cupcake turned to the bathroom counter. It was liberally cluttered with various bathing-room items; the sink took up the majority of counter space front and center. Either side of the sink were open baskets in pink and green respectively, both filled with what were obviously Jamie's and Sophie's toiletries. On Sophie's side, every bottle, tooth brush, and knick-knack were laying across the counter.

"Where are we going to put the board?" Cupcake asked, scrutinizing the rest of the room while the other kids examined the countertop as well. Beside the sink was a small, shallow closet, over-stuffed with towels and toilet paper and other bathroom necessities; then the toilet, which was very nearly pressed against a knee-high bathtub-shower combo. Across from the counter was a low cupboard with doors that squeaked loudly when opened. Between cupboard and shower was a towel rack. All-in-all a normal-looking bathroom. Not the place Cupcake would have chosen to communicate with the dead, but hey, she was no expert on these kinds things. If they needed a mirror, they needed a mirror.

Caleb was thinking along the same lines as Cupcake. "We can't balance it over the sink," he sighed, referring to the board. "And that's the only place we could all reach it."

"W-why would we all need to reach it?" Monty asked.

"'Cause we all got to put our fingers on the... the triangle thingy. Duh." Caleb explained unhelpfully, carefully sidestepping the fact that he did not, really, know what he was talking about, but clearly enjoyed thinking he did.

"It's called a planchette, Caleb," Pippa said, scrutinizing herself in the mirror and adjusting her hat. "And we can't all put our hands on it; one of us needs to be the recorder. You're right, Cupcake, we'll have to put it on the floor."

"What's the point of doing it in the bathroom if we aren't going to look in the mirror?" Claude asked. Caleb snorted.

"What's the recorder do?" Cupcake asked.

"Might as well do it in Jamie's room," Monty said hopefully. "It would be more comfortable."

"The recorder records what the board says," Pippa said mildly. "Monty, we can see the mirror from the floor. I don't think we need to see the board in the mirror, just the mirror."

"I'll be the recorder," Cupcake volunteered. "Now, why do we need the mirror again?"

"Because," Pippa met Cupcake's eyes in the mirror, eyebrows and lips turned up just slightly, "the looking glass has long been known to be a portal between worlds."

"So... the spirit's gonna come through the mirror to talk to us," Claude stated, looking at Monty as if for confirmation; Monty shrugged one shoulder.

"Okay, guys, I got it!" Jamie's return brought an energetic end to the conversation, his arms full of flashlights in varying shapes and sizes. "After I found mine I remembered there were more in the hall closet and Sophie's room. Think this is enough?"

"Aw, yeah, baby," Claude cheered as Jamie passed out the flashlights. "This is gonna be awesome."

"We're sitting on the floor," Monty informed Jamie glumly as the twins and Cupcake began moving bathroom rugs and situating the board on the tiles.

"But the candles should go in front of the mirror," Caleb added.

Obligingly, Jamie cleared the counter space after fetching a notebook for Cupcake. After dumping everything in the sink, he clicked on the four candles. He placed two on either side of the sink, grabbed his flashlight, and placed his free hand over the light switch.

The kids situated themselves on the floor, cross-legged and, after some discourse on the subject, with their knees touching. Monty, having no interest whatsoever in seeing whatever it was the others wanted to see in the mirror, sat with his back to the counter cupboards. To his left, with her back to the toilet, sat Cupcake. Being of the opinion that, although this sounded like fun, it would forever be irredeemably stupid, Cupcake found herself to be relieved to have secured the position of The Recorder (Pippa had said this as though it were a proper title); she held a small flip-notebook in one hand and a pen poised over it in the other. To Cupcake's left, back to the bathtub, sat Claude, and beside him, Pippa. Caleb claimed a seat across from Cupcake, leaving a spot open between himself and Pippa for Jamie.

"Ready?" Jamie asked, grinning and positioning the flashlight below his chin.

Three grins, an upraised eyebrow, and a worried frown answered him. "Do it," Caleb whispered theatrically, also pointing his flashlight upwards below his chin.

Jamie clicked the light off.

Once their eyes adjusted, the children found the ambiance was not as chilling as they would have liked. The most light came from the hallway through the crack in the door, effectively destroying whatever dark atmosphere they might have created. The battery-powered candles did not offer much light, but what they did give off was steadily and decidedly pink, throwing vague flower shapes on the wall and ceiling opposite the mirror. The flashlights, which the kids propped up in their laps facing the board, effectively took away the deepest shadows on the floor. The only truly dark parts of the bathroom were the shower (curtain drawn) and the ceiling above it.

Pippa took the lead as Jamie joined his friends in the haphazard circle, attempting to put the best face on things. If they were going to make this scary they would, it seemed, have to do all the legwork themselves.

"We may now contact the spirits," she intoned gravely.

"I'll ask the questions," Claude said eagerly.

"I want to ask questions, too," Caleb complained, upsetting the circle in an attempt to get his leg up for a kick in Claude's general direction.

"Why don't we all ask questions?" Cupcake asked loudly, having been the only one who came close to being affected by Caleb's and Claude's budding argument. She settled back into her seat wearily.

"Uh, I don't think any spirits would mind if we all asked questions," Jamie said. Somewhat deflated, the twins gave in.

"Alright," Pippa said, moving the game along, "everybody, place the fingers of your dominant hand on the planchette."

"Huh?" said Jamie.

"The triangle thing," Monty supplied.

"Oh."

Everybody with exception to Monty and Cupcake reached forward and placed the tips of their fingers on the planchette, which Pippa had previously put in the center of the board. Then they all turned to stare at Monty and Cupcake.

"Recording, remember?" Cupcake said dryly, holding up her pen. "I can't write and reach at the same time." The other children agreed this was a good enough excuse to not touch the planchette, and then turned en force on the bespectacled blonde.

"I- I- I- don't want to," Monty whispered.

"Oh, c'mon, Monty," Claude groaned. "It's not going to bite you."

"It's okay, really," Jamie assured him. His smile was genuine. "I mean, Santa or the Tooth Fairy wouldn't do anything scary or weird, right? What if we couldn't see them because we didn't believe in them? Think of all the friends we might not've met because we don't know to believe in them! They can tell us their names and what they look like, and then we'll have more friends like Jack Frost. Wouldn't that be so cool?"

"I doubt any of 'em would be hanging out in Jamie's bathroom," Cupcake deadpanned. Her vote turned out to be the most placating. "I don't think anything interesting is going to happen. It's just a board game at heart, isn't it?"

Monty finally consented to placing his fingers on the planchette with the others. Everybody gazed down at the board solemnly.

The board was rather plain in appearance, something the kids were grateful for; though the light wasn't spooky, it wasn't the best to see by, either. It was made to look like wood, light brown with tree grain markings painted on. At the top, "Spirit Board" was spelled out in almost illegibly curly letters. The center of the board was dominated by the alphabet (all legible, fortunately) listed in two lines; below the letters were the numbers zero through nine, the words "yes" and "no" on either side, and at the bottom was a single word: "Goodbye."

"Can we talk to a spirit now?" Caleb asked.

"The directions said to open the board first by spelling out hello," Monty said.

"There are directions?" Caleb said, turning to Monty with an utterly bewildered expression.

"Saying 'hello' is a good idea," Pippa said. "Let's spell it out."

It was harder to drag the planchette across the board than any of the kids expected, entirely owing to everybody wanting to be the principal force in pushing it. Giggles erupted from all sides while they worked at their task, most of them speaking each letter aloud as they went.

"Okay. Now what?" Jamie said, looking to Monty. Jamie hadn't realized the game came with directions, either.

"Now we say hello," Cupcake said, smirking.

"Are there any spirits here that would like to be believed in?" Caleb said, raising his voice slightly.

Everybody watched the board intently with bated breath. Apart from some fidgeting, the bathroom was fell completely silent. And, to their enormous credit, the kids were able to hold still and remain quiet for almost two full minutes. It was Cupcake who broke the silence.

"This is stupid."

"Cupcake!" Claude objected, "we have to give them a chance to answer, you know!"

"How long of a chance are we going to give them, exactly?" Pippa asked, the smile evident in her voice.

Caleb sighed and rested his elbows on his knees. "Maybe we should just start asking questions."

"Good idea," Jamie said.

Claude sat up and cleared his throat. "Attention all spirits in the area who have yet to be believed in, attention all spirits in the area who have yet to be believed in, do you read me, over?"

Caleb, Cupcake, and Jamie giggled.

"We should be serious about this if we really want to make contact," Pippa said, twitching the planchette lightly in time to her words to carry the point.

"What's to be serious about?" Cupcake grumbled, placing one hand on her neck and stretching it.

"Maybe we're not asking the right questions," Caleb said, smirking faintly.

"We haven't asked any questions," Cupcake pointed out.

"Whatever we ask, we do need to give them time to answer," Pippa said.

"Do you think we should be asking something specific, though?" Jamie mused. "I mean, what if it can't speak English or something? Maybe we should talk to them in shorter sentences."

"Maybe we should just go to bed," Monty muttered.

"What was that, Monty?" Caleb said. Everybody stopped talking and turned to look at him.

"I- uh, nothing. Nothing." Monty gulped and tried to look interested. "Only, Claude, m- maybe you shouldn't move the... uh, the planchette around so much."

"I'm not—" Claude began to protest, but the words died quite suddenly in his throat. His mouth remained open as he snapped wide eyes back to the board.

The planchette moved.

The all felt it, as if something far stronger than the tips of kids' fingers were pushing it. Monty yelped and snatched his hand back. There was an audible thunk as his shoulders hit the cabinet behind him.

The planchette twitched across the board five times, then stopped. Everybody stared, eyes wide, lips forming various sized "O" shapes. The silence was suddenly total and absolute. They even held their breath. The bathroom began to feel less pink and light-hearted. More than one pair of fingers trembled, but none apart from Monty took their hands away from the board.

"Wha-" Caleb's voice was something between a gasp and a strangled whisper, "what did it say, Cupcake?"

Cupcake twitched, then seemed to come back to herself. "I didn't catch it," she admitted, rallying; she was relieved to find her voice sounded steady. "I wasn't looking at the board."

Pippa pressed her lips together, trying to form words. It was Jamie who spoke next, however. If the unexpected movement centered around the board subdued him, he did not show it. He and Cupcake appeared to be the only two kids left unshaken.

"What is your name?"

Everybody held their breaths again, fingers light on the triangle. When a few agonizing seconds passed, Jamie looked up to the mirror.

"Can you show us your reflection?"

Everybody except Monty immediately craned their necks back to get a good peek at the mirror. Nothing.

And then the planchette twitched beneath their fingers again. As it began gliding smoothly, but quickly, across the board, Cupcake snapped into action and began scribbling letters as quickly as possible. It went fast enough that she couldn't look at what she was writing.

It stopped. Again, a pregnant silence. Again, Jamie and Cupcake appeared to be the only participants willingly engaged. All the other young faces had begun showing signs of varying degrees of stress.

Jamie whispered, "Cupcake?" and the girl in question looked down at what she had written. Thankfully, her coordination was good enough that her scribbles were readable.

C H I L D R E N

"...Um," said Jamie at last, "yeah, we're kids, I guess. Big kids, though. Do you need us to believe in you before we can see you?"

This time the pause was not so long. Caleb breathed out a wondering sigh as their fingers were dragged lightly across the board again. Once more, Cupcake was hard-pressed to keep up.

W A N T T O P L A Y A G A M E

"Uh, sure," Jamie answered, unsure as to whether this was a question or a statement.

"What kind of game?" Pippa asked. Across from her, Monty moaned softly, knuckles pressed to his teeth.

The planchette trailed over the board. Cupcake leaned forward and stared intently, scribbling furiously.

H I D E A N D S E E K

"Oh, well, that's easy enough," Claude answered charitably. "Can you make yourself visible so we can find you?"

"Yes, please?" Pippa agreed.

"We can't find you if you aren't visible," Jamie added.

"And it would be easier to talk face to face, don't you think?" Caleb contributed.

The pause was a long one. Over a minute passed before Cupcake was scribbling the answer.

Y O U H I D E I S E E K

"Uh," said Pippa.

"Do we have to do this?" Claude groaned, sitting back - but not far enough to take his fingers from the triangle. "I thought we were going to talk to new spirits like Jack Frost and the Sandman." He was startled when the triangle immediately began to move again.

H I D E F R O M M E

"Okay..." said Jamie slowly, his confidence suddenly shaken. He felt as if the tip of a cold claw was running slowly up his back, from the base of his spine to the back of his neck. He shivered.

"Spirit, we will not be leaving this room," Pippa called out firmly. She, too, had felt that cold feeling of something like dread creeping up her back.

Caleb and Claude immediately backed her up. "We can't leave this room and talk to you at the same time. We wouldn't know if you'd found us or not."

"Yeah, that's no fun..."

All six kids watched the board expectantly for close to five minutes before they got their next message, which was not a message, precisely. The pointer jerked down to the number nine, paused for a heartbeat, and then jerked to the number eight. Another pause. Seven. Pause. Six. Pause. Five.

The room seemed to fill with something heavy and dark, like dread or depression.

Four.

Three.

An immediate hubbub broke out.

"What is it doing?"

"Stop it! You guys!"

Two.

Jamie tore his hands from the planchette, yelling, "we're not going to play your stupid game!"

One.

Zero.

"I said-" Jamie was cut off by a sudden snap! that cracked across the bathroom like a gunshot. At least four kids squeaked or wailed, and they all jumped. All four of Jamie's mom's battery-powered candles, and every flashlight except Monty's, had gone out at once, but with the noise of a thousand light bulbs cracking into nothingness.

Monty gripped his flashlight tightly against his chest, breathing harshly; the lone light illuminated each puff of breath as if he were standing outside on an icy winter's night. More than one child came to the conclusion that their trembling was from more than just shot nerves. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped considerably with the countdown.

The planchette moved again in the much more thorough semi-darkness. Caleb yelped.

"I can't see!" Cupcake cried. Claude snatched the flashlight from Monty to shine it on the board. Cupcake leaned so far forward to see that she blocked the view from everybody but Monty, who had covered his face with both hands and was whimpering softly.

R E A D Y O R N O T

Their fingers stilled for a brief pause and Cupcake slowly leaned away, eyebrows drawn together. And then:

G O T C H A

There followed a sudden commotion at the door and the sound of something inhuman. All of the kids screamed and jerked away from the door, Caleb tripping over the board and knocking the others over in the darkness like dominoes. Jamie recovered quickly, though, and, trembling, darted to the door and yanked it open.

"It's okay," he gasped as Abby, the family greyhound, bounced in. "It's just Abby. She hates being locked out of whatever room I'm in."

The open door allowed light and blessed heat to flood in to the suddenly suffocatingly small room. There was a brief struggle as every child attempted to escape into the hallway at the same time. Abby squeezed out with them, adding merrily to the melee by jumping on Jamie, making little whining sounds, and whipping everybody within reach with her tail.

"Jamie? Kids, is that you?" Jamie's mom mounted the steps and found all the children under her care in a tangled heap on the floor of the hallway. "What are you kids up to?"

"N- n- nothing," Pippa managed, picking herself up gingerly.

Jamie's mom was not fooled. "Been playing with that talking board, haven't you?"

Caught, the children all hung their heads a little sheepishly.

"Did you meet any ghosts?"

"Well..." Caleb began.

"Not... sort of?" Cupcake offered, as much at a loss as the others.

"Mom, our house is haunted," Jamie informed her, point blank. "There's a creepy ghost in the bathroom."

His mom seemed to think that was funny. Chuckling placidly, she suggested the ghost go outside to play with Jack Frost so her kiddos could go to bed. They caught the hint and shuffled off to Jamie's room (and Sophie's, for the girls) obediently, with Abby bouncing in their wake.

It was some hours later when Jamie's mom entered the hallway properly on her way to bed, and stopped to inspect the bathroom. Flipping on the light confirmed her suspicions: the Ouija board lay haphazardly on the floor with no sign of the planchette, something she would not have thought to look for anyway. She tutted at all of the flashlights and candles - clearly, Jamie had raided every closet in the house - and began gathering everything up to put away.

She did not notice a strange temperature in the room, or not particularly; nor did she try any of the candles or flashlights to find if they were working or not. She did notice smudges on the mirror, however, and gave an exasperated sigh. One thing she had always gotten on Jamie and Sophie about was writing on and leaving fingerprints all over the bathroom mirror. She didn't bother to read the message - doubtlessly something meant to be spooky and séance-ish - but flipped on the sink, nabbed a hand towel, and washed it off.

* * *

The next morning brought with it sunlight and warmth, a cloudless spring day, and the joy of having no school to go back to yet. Waking up to birdsong and the smell of bacon, the kids each felt something like foolishness regarding their Ouija experience the night before, rather the way one feels after panicking over a nightmare in the dead of night only to find it was, after all, nothing but a silly dream.

They giggled about it at a late breakfast table, talking over each other with their mouths full. Jamie's stepdad, Christopher, who had just returned from a night shift as a police detective, provided an attentive listener to their story, which they took in turns to tell.

"And then it started counting down all the way from nine, huh?"

"Yeah! It was super creepy, Mr. Graves. Then the whole room got cold-"

"It was like freezing cold-"

"I could see my breath, it was that cold-"

"And then suddenly, out of nowhere-"

"Abby tried to get in the door," Jamie finished, to a round of laughter which spewed crumbs across the table in almost every direction.

"Just ol' Abby, huh?" Christopher flashed a conspiratorial smile at his stepson while the dog in question laid her head in his lap and gazed soulfully up at his plate. "So no haunted bathrooms after all?"

"Nope," Cupcake assured him.

"But even if there was a ghost, you could just shoot it, right?" Monty asked.

"Oh, I don't know. I think I'd have to arrest it for trespassing first."

"Has anyone seen Sophie?" Jamie's mom asked, returning to the table to dish out seconds from a hot pan of bacon.

"Nope," Jamie supplied unhelpfully.

"She was still asleep when we left," Pippa said.

"Strange. She's usually an early riser," Jamie's mom said thoughtfully.

"I'll go get her up. Save some bacon for your sister, Jamie!" Christopher said, vacating the table and kitchen. Jamie could hear his voice faintly upstairs, calling for "his sleepy girl" and asking Sophie what she'd been up to all night. He returned several minutes later with a drowsy Sophie in one arm, still wearing footie pajamas and her hair in a tangled mess. She clung to Christopher even when presented with breakfast and had to be fed from his plate.

The sight made Jamie's stomach clench uncomfortably. Fortunately, breakfast didn't last much longer and, with his friends preparing to walk home, Jamie allowed himself the luxury of fleeing the kitchen table. Christopher's voice and Sophie's infectious laughter followed him all the way outside where, fortunately, he found something else to distract himself with.

In the kitchen, once the children had all left either to pack up or go home, Christopher and his wife had a brief conversation in soft voices while Sophie maneuvered food between her mouth and Abby.

"An Ouija board?" Christopher asked, eyebrows raised.

Mrs. Bennett-Graves shrugged. "I didn't see anything wrong with it. It's just a board game."

"Talking boards can be dangerous, Hon. I mean it," he added when his wife half-turned to give him a small, placating smile. "There are things wandering around that can do a lot of damage when they're invited to it."

Jamie's mom turned away from the stove and rested her lower back against it, gripping her elbows lightly. "But you don't have a problem with Jamie looking for aliens or camping out in his sister's room to see the Tooth Fairy?" she asked with false mischief in her smile. 

Christopher let her derail the subject, engaging instead in a topic which was becoming a tired argument of late. "There's nothing wrong with a little imagination."

"But he's eleven years old now; he's getting too old for it, Chris. What's going to happen when his peers find out he still believes in Santa Clause? This needs to stop..."

"He'll grow out of it when he's good and ready, Elizabeth. There's nothing to worry about; he's a bright kid, he'll figure it out on his own. Repeatedly telling him the Easter Bunny isn't real hasn't worked yet and it's not going to until he's reached a point where he's ready to move on; we can't force him to grow up."

"I'm not trying to force him to grow up," Jamie's mom said a little scathingly, but the censure was directed at herself.

Christopher stood and approached his wife, leaving Sophie to scamper out of the kitchen unattended. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her temple. "Hey, love," he said, "it's alright. Jamie's going to be fine. A little faith never hurt anything — you know that better than anybody."

Jamie's mom smiled and returned the embrace. "No," she murmured, "I suppose it doesn't."

They were interrupted by Sophie a short while later, who came thundering in from outside with Abby at her heels, shrieking, "snowing! Snow! Mommy, Daddy, look!"

They did look, incredulously. It had been a mild winter followed by a warm spring; just this morning the weatherman had predicted a cloudless day with highs in the mid seventies. But sure enough, when Jamie's parents poked their heads out the front door, it was as if winter had settled in for one more day. The wind nipped their noses; clouds appeared to be covering the expanse of Burgess only; snowflakes had begun to pepper the air.

"Would you look at that," said Jamie's stepdad.

"Jack Frost," Sophie turned her bright, dimpled smile to the sky. "He's back, Daddy." Then she glanced back over her shoulder, into the house, where Abby was sitting at the door. "Come and play!"

The adults were forced to dodge Abby as the greyhound came barreling into the yard, but Jamie's mom immediately jumped into action and shot after Sophie, calling for her to put on a coat and a hat.

The neighborhood filled with the delighted calls of children, Jamie and Sophie among them. Christopher Graves stood in the doorway, shivering a little, and watched the sight appreciatively. Very little could compare, he thought, to the joy of children; and, closing the door behind him, he stepped into the snow and joined in on a snowball fight started by one of the twins.


	2. Part I: The Last Light

“[T]here stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause […] and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused reverie or meditation.”

Edgar Allan Poe, _The Masque of the Red Death_


	3. Chapter One

The thing was, he could never say for sure if he really heard it.

Jamie Bennett-Graves lay tense while early dawn light crept slowly across his bed. He strained his ears but couldn't hear anything beyond birdsong and the occasional engine turning outside. His mother was never up this early and he thought he could detect his sister's faint snores from next door. Burgess was near-silent and still, so still, as if holding its breath while an early autumn settled heavily around it.

There was nothing out of the ordinary. No sounds that didn't belong.

Jamie sighed and rolled over, intent on going back to sleep. There were only two weeks left until school started and he wasn't about to waste a second of it on imaginary noises. He told himself this repeatedly until he fell into an unhappy half-doze for the remainder of the morning, watching the sunlight creep across the bare carpet of his floor and listening to his breath ghosting across the pillowcase.

* * *

Jamie may not have had to start school, but the Hawthorne City Academy For Gifted Youngsters began a little earlier than the Burgess school district.

"Mom, hurry up! We're going to be late!" Jamie hollered through his mom's door, shooting Christopher's grandfather clock a scowl while on his way to Sophie's room. His mom had insisted on moving it upstairs at the start of summer and it had given Jamie no end of trouble ever since. "You ready, Soph?"

Sophie pranced out of her room and turned in a delighted circle. "How do I look, how do I look?" she demanded, smiling brightly.

Jamie examined Sophie's austere school uniform critically. It was on front to back and right side out ( _check_ ), the zipper was done up the back ( _check_ ), and her shoes were on the right feet ( _and check_ ). "Good work," he said.

Sophie lowered her arms, suddenly uncharacteristically shy. "Jack helped. He says I look like a proper woman."

Jamie's smile felt brittle, like it might shatter if he stretched it too far. "Great," he said.

"Where's mom?"

"Still sleeping."

"Mo-om!" Sophie yelled, barging into her mom's room without preamble, "it's time for school now!"

Twenty minutes later, Jamie and Sophie stood waiting by the car while their mother returned to the house for her car keys. It was biting cold and both kids shivered, wishing they'd thought to grab their coats.

"Why's mom have to forget everything?" Sophie grumbled mutinously, hands stuffed beneath her arms.

"She's got a lot on her mind," Jamie said wearily. "And her medicine makes her fuzzy-headed, remember?"

"I miss daddy."

Jamie's throat went dry. He tried to swallow, struggling to think of something to say. Finally he managed a low, "I know."

Their mom returned and no more words were exchanged on the subject, which Jamie was grateful for.

Hawthorne, a neighboring city across the river, was a 45 minute drive one way. The ride was mostly silent except for Sophie (apparently) eliciting a promise from Jack to behave, and their mom yawning infrequently. When they arrived Jamie held Sophie's hand while their mom spoke with the principal and Sophie's new teacher.

They all hugged when it was time to say goodbye.

"I'll be waiting for you at the bus stop," Jamie promised.

"Okay. I love you, Jamie."

"Love you, too, Soph," Jamie said, uncaring about who heard him at this strange school in a city he didn't know.

The drive home was even quieter.

"I don't like it, mom," Jamie said suddenly, breaking the silence with enough aplomb to startle his mother out of whatever reverie she'd been in. She sighed; she knew what he was complaining about and wasn't about to budge.

"I'm sorry, Jamie, but it's staying there. It's not hurting anything."

"It keeps waking me up."

"It hasn't worked in generations. You're just hearing things."

"I am not. Mom. I'm not hearing things."

"Jamie, why do you have to do this?" _Don't I have enough to worry about without you whining about your dad's clock?_ went unspoken. Nevertheless, the statement, like always, put an end to the conversation.

Jamie turned his face and rested his forehead against the window. It was cold and brought a numbness he both welcomed and abhorred for its biting reality.

* * *

Sophie stood alone at the steps to the school's main entrance, watching her family leave her behind. "Don't forget," she whispered. "You promised. No messing up anymore."

"Miss Bennett-Graves?" An adult woman's voice startled Sophie from behind. "Do you remember me? I'm your teacher. We met last week."

Sophie turned around; the woman who had spoken to her was tall, thin, and had her silver hair pulled back into an expensive-looking twist. Not a strand was out of place. It reminded Sophie of her own hair, which Jamie had done up into piggy tails for her earlier that morning because mom was too busy trying to sleep because she never got enough sleep. Locks of hair so blonde it was almost colorless were already falling into her eyes. Sophie couldn't help having the feeling that she was being sized up, weighed, and dismissed; she was getting used to that feeling, though.

Sophie nodded, fidgeting a little.

"Well," said her teacher, "why don't we go inside and you can pick a seat?"

"Any seat I want?" Sophie asked, lighting up at this unexpected kindness. In Kindergarten her seat had been assigned both times. 

"Any seat you want."

Sophie followed her teacher up two flights of stairs to their classroom, which was already full of chattering first-graders. The desks were nothing like she was used to, each not unlike the kind her daddy had in his office; each formed three parts to a rectangle, with the chair fitting neatly in the space between the shorter wings of the desk; the chairs were separate, and made from a sturdy-looking wood. 

Sophie knew which desk she wanted immediately. It was near the front, on the far side of the room bathed in sunlight spilling through a crack between the tightly cinched curtains; unlike the others, the wood of the chair was a slightly darker shade, and it seemed altogether newer. A new desk for a new start. Sophie made a prompt beeline for it.

Unfortunately, it was already occupied by another little girl. She was olive-skinned and tall for her age with a long, sweet face. Her brow was almost completely hidden by a cloud of soft curls falling well past her elbows, dark as night. She was wearing her uniform like a queen wears a crown, and her air was altogether both confident and unspeakably regal. The girl was chattering with three or four other kids when Sophie walked up; all of them fell silent at her approach.

Sophie steeled herself against a shyness born from frequent failure and glanced sideways at Jack, who, like usual, had not been noticed by any other child in the room. He only looked steadily back. Sophie addressed the tall girl.

"Hi. I'm Sophie." She paused for a breath, expectant.

At first the girl only looked at her, incredulous, while the other kids standing nearby broke into titters.

"Sophie," the girl said at last. Her voice was melodious and smooth, and sounded as if it belonged to a much older child than a seven-year-old. "My name is Emily Jane."

"Hi, Emily Jane. Um, would you move, please? That's my chair."

Again, Emily Jane observed her with a silent, calculating eye, chin lifted just so. "I was here first. Sorry."

Sophie dithered for a moment. Again, she looked to Jack who, again, offered no help whatsoever. She decided on the approach she was most comfortable with: the direct kind.

"Would you please pick a different desk? That's mine." She reiterated politely.

Emily Jane's friends began giggling again and whispering to each other. Emily Jane leaned forward and rested her chin on a slim wrist. "No," she said, and raised her eyebrows as if to ask, _and what are you going to do about it?_

Sophie frowned a little. "Get out of my chair or I'll rip your eyes out."

Somebody gasped; complete silence fell in their little corner of the room. Though she hadn't moved physically like some of the other kids, Emily Jane looked both annoyed and intimidated. In the end the latter won out. She got up.

"Thank you!" Sophie told her, brightly genuine. Emily Jane looked at her from beneath long, dark lashes, and only turned away. The kids she had been talking to backed off and fell into whispers as soon as they were a safe distance away from Sophie.

Sophie claimed her seat and surveyed the classroom. After a while she addressed Jack with a low, "I did it again, didn't I?" 

He didn't grace this with an answer; but then, he was busy, Sophie realized, investigating the other children.

He always liked other kids more than her.

_Don't leave me_ , she wanted to say, but the words didn't pass her lips; even so, Jack turned and briefly returned to her side. She breathed a slow, silent sigh of relief. 

The rest of the day passed without further incident. Sophie kept to herself at recess, ate alone during lunch, and did her best to pay attention to her teacher; and when school let out Sophie walked by herself to the nearest city bus stop, where Jamie was waiting with green apple slices and peanut butter for the long ride home.

* * *

There were a lot of things Jamie disliked in life, but few outpaced the monthly counseling sessions his family had been attending since his stepfather's death the year before.

"And how do you feel about Emily Jane's reaction during the rest of the day?"

"I felt confused. She didn't talk to me at all. None of her friends did, either."

"But you understand why they might be intimidated?"

Sophie's voice was tiny and yielding. "I guess."

Old William ( _"call me Old William,"_ he'd informed them with a smile when they'd first met; coincidentally, all of his sons were named William -- "Tall William," "William the Almost Youngest," and the newborn, "William the Absolute Youngest." _Very cute_ , Jamie had thought, scowling) gave Sophie's hand a little pat accompanied by an encouraging smile, which she returned.

"And how are you doing, Jamie? Are you still spending time with Pippa?"

Jamie sunk back into his chair, shooting a surly glance at his mother. "She's been at a chess tournament," he muttered. Hadn't he mentioned that last time? He couldn't remember. It didn't matter anyway.

"How about Monty? Does he still come over to play drones?"

"Not really." 

"Have you seen any of your friends very much this last month?"

"I guess."

Old William decided to change tactics. "Getting excited for school?"

"I guess."

"Does the clock still bother you?"

"Yes."

"Your mom said you'd mentioned it was waking you up? Can you explain that a little more for me?"

"I hear it at night and it wakes me up." Jamie sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Simple."

"But both your mom and Sophie say they've never heard it."

"They aren't light sleepers."

"And I understand that old clock hasn't been working in years. Is that true?"

"Obviously not," Jamie said, impatient.

Mr. William leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees, all gentle and understanding. Jamie avoided his eyes.

"Do you often hear the clock these days, Jamie?" Mr. William asked.

"Not all the time."

"Do you understand why it's so precious to your mom and Sophie?"

"Wha-- uh. Yeah, yeah, I get it."

"You understand why they'd want it to be close by?"

"Yeah, I get it, I just don't want it waking me up all the time."

Jamie's attitude seemed to have an effect at last; Mr. William left him alone shortly after that, at least for a while, and shifted his attention once again to Ms. Bennett-Graves. "And how have you been?" He asked her, tone dropping to that we're-serious-adults-having-a-serious-conversation pitch that always seemed to exclude kids in every way possible. He moved to sit beside her on the beat-up sofa that filled at least a third of his office.

Jamie looked at Sophie; she grinned at the face he was making, so he made another one.

"Well..." the kids' mom sighed. "I heard McDonald's is hiring."

"Anything is better than nothing."

"Yeah, but it feels like... I don't know. Like I'm not trying hard enough."

Jamie tuned them out and focused on Sophie, who clearly hadn't enjoyed her first day of school as much as she'd tried to pretend. She was a terrible liar; it was almost cute. He joined her on the floor by the window, where Old William kept a box of toys for his younger visitors. Sophie was setting up the dolls and stuffed animals for a tea party and didn't notice her brother at first.

"Who needs Emily Jane, anyway?" he murmured, inviting himself into her circle of tea guests and dropping down amidst the animals. "I mean, she sounds like a total cow."

"But everybody knows her," Sophie said, voice just as low. She offered him an invisible biscuit, which he accepted graciously. "Even some third-graders are her friends." 

"So? Who cares? They're all going to know you soon enough and then she won't matter."

"I think they already all know me. Same as at my last school." Sophie's voice turned surly. She put the plastic teapot down harder than was necessary.

"You're not a weirdo, Sophie." Jamie'd had this conversation with his little sister before. So had his mother and Old William; it never seemed to make a difference.

"Everyone thinks I am."

"They're wrong."

"Doesn't matter. They think I'm weird."

"You're not weird. You're just..." Jamie hesitated. Sophie wasn't the weirdo people thought she was, but she certainly didn't always pass as normal. "You're just different. That's a good thing, remember? Old William said." Sophie had a tendency to cling to Old William's words, so Jamie had no qualms using them if it might boost her mood. "You aren't totally alone anyway. You have me, and Cupcake really likes you." 

"Jack likes the other kids better than me." Sophie confessed softly.

Jamie's stomach dropped. He pressed his lips together, blinked hard, struggled to think of something to say. "Well then," he managed at last, "then who needs him?" 

Sophie looked up at him unhappily.

"If he can't appreciate you for who you are, then you don't need him. Tell him to go away if he bothers you." 

Sophie looked down again, and didn't say anything else for a while. 

"You're in his seat," she said at last, low. Jamie took the hint and got up. He glanced through the window at the clear view of church courtyard and the setting sun beyond, and wandered back over to his seat. 

The kids' mom and Old William finished up almost half an hour later. There was something heavy in the way the counselor laid a gentle hand on Jamie's shoulder before the family closed the session with a prayer, but Jamie didn't give it any more thought than that of a moment's; he assumed there was something else going on with his mom, another problem with her job or the medications she was taking. 

He was used to pity from other adults on that point. 

* * *

They had cereal for dinner that night, and their mom went to bed shortly after six, leaving Jamie and Sophie to their own devices. Jamie turned down the TV to avoid disturbing their mom but otherwise didn't give her another thought.

"Is Cupcake coming over again soon?" Sophie asked hopefully. She admired Cupcake the way Jamie saw girls at his school admire Katy Perry.

Jamie looked at his sister over the pile of clothes he'd just collected from her floor. "Uh, I dunno."

He hadn't seen much of Cupcake or Monty lately; they'd spent most of the summer spending time with Caleb. But Sophie's hopes might be answered now that Caleb was starting school and the others weren't. Caleb's and Claude's parents had the obvious advantage of being — to put it lightly — totally loaded, so it wasn't that much of a surprise that their friends learned at the conclusion of sixth grade that neither would be attending school in the Burgess SD. Caleb was going to a charter school with high ratings for its art programme, and Claude was attending the same Hawthorne Academy system as Sophie for their basketball team. Cupcake was a year ahead of everybody else and had already been engaged by Monty as a guide and protector throughout the first year of middle school; she also spent a lot of time doing artsy things with Caleb over the summer.

Sophie and Cupcake had a shared affinity for unicorns and the Easter Bunny, and Sophie adored her for it; it was always an exciting time when Cupcake came over. She just never did anymore. But Caleb's school, like Claude's and Sophie's, started earlier than the Burgess district, so there would be at least a week wherein Cupcake might not be so busy. And if Sophie wanted it, generally Jamie did what it took to give it to her.

"I'll ask," he promised, exiting downstairs to the washing machine. Sophie's answering, "yay!" followed him all the way down into the laundry room and caught up to him as a smile.

* * *

The night brought stillness and silence and nothing out of the ordinary, like it always had.

There was no reason Jamie should be awake, but he was. Something had woken him up, he was sure of it. He listened, but there was nothing other than the sounds of night outside his bedroom window.  
 _  
No, wait—_

There was a faint clicking sound coming from somewhere in the house. The whisper-silent rustling of bare feet on carpet.

Jamie sat up and strained his ears.  
 _  
Tick._

_Rustle._  
  
The clock. 

And something else.

Jamie threw his bed covers aside and bounced to his feet. He pulled his bedroom door open silently, just a crack, just enough to look down the hallway to where the clock stood large and immobile. And it was definitely ticking.

Jamie pulled his door open wider and put himself halfway through it. The sight of a figure in the hallways startled him, but only momentarily; he recognized his mom after a heartbeat. She was standing in front of the clock, slumping a little and rocking in place just ever so slightly. Jamie watched her long enough to get the eerie impression that she was swaying to the ticking of the clock, and stepped out his door.

"Mom?" he whispered, approaching slowly.

She didn't respond. She was staring sightlessly through the clock, which was tick-tocking, ominous and loud, echoing through the house and playing on Jamie's nerves.

Jamie stopped just out of reaching distance. "Mom?" he whispered again, hesitant.

She took a sudden breath, startling Jamie.

"Oh," she breathed in a voice somewhere between its normal pitch and a whisper. "Oh, baby. My baby. Baby..."

Jamie looked at the clock. The minute-hand was making the circumference of the clock face faster than it should be, clearing each revolution in a matter of seconds each time. The hour-hand suddenly moved, and the clock let out a hearty bellow once — twice — eleven times — and then fell utterly silent once again. Neither the minute nor hour hands moved. No ticking.

Jamie stood still, trembling from the start the clock had given him. The silence it left behind was deafening and alarming, as if someone else was standing there with him and his mom, not just a tall clock.

"M-mom," Jamie said loudly, jolting himself as much as his mother.

She twitched and turned slightly, blinking rapidly.

"Mom?"

"Jamie?" She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, too tired to be irritated. "Jamie, what are you doing? It's past midnight."

"I..." Jamie failed to form a coherent response.

His mom was already turning away and walking haphazardly back to her room. "Go to bed, Jamie."

"But..."

His hoarse voice trailed into silence as her door closed. He looked at the clock again, and abruptly didn't want to be alone with it. He backed away, hand outstretched behind him for his bedroom door, without letting the clock out of his sight. It didn't do anything more than watch him back, however, and he reached the relative safety of his room in one piece.

He pulled his covers over his head and slept in fits and starts for the rest of the night.

When he woke his mom up the next morning to take Sophie to school, she didn't remember anything of what had transpired the night before. "I was up until two working on a project," she groused when Jamie tried to pin her to it. "You must have been dreaming."

And Jamie, with a cold shiver running down his spine, hoped he had been — but he knew he hadn't.

...Had he?


	4. Chapter Two

“I think my house is haunted.” 

“Again?” 

Jamie kicked at a chunk of slushy snow, shoulders hunched. Next to him, Pippa managed to avoid every pile of slush, snow, or ice as they walked, a talent that Jamie had yet to master — let alone want to master. Stepping in slush was one of the best things about the advent and departure of winter. 

“I know it sounds crazy,” he insisted, “but I think that my stepdad’s old clock has a ghost in it or something.” 

Pippa glanced at Jamie sideways through the fringe of her hair; it fell over her shoulder in a straight sheet, hiding her expression, so Jamie didn’t try to gauge it. He knew what her reaction would be anyway. 

“Jamie, that doesn’t make any sense. There’s no such thing as ghosts.” 

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, mouth twisting into an unhappy grimace. “But it’s the only thing I can think of.” 

“If all it does is wake you up at night…” 

“No, no, no, that’s not everything. Sometimes when I walk by it, it’s like it’s… I dunno, like it’s watching me. And sometimes I’ll find my mom standing in front of it in the middle of the night, just, like, standing there and staring at it. It’s—“ insane “—definitely haunted. Or something.” 

“Your stepdad’s clock isn’t haunted, Jamie.” 

“Thank you for that vote of confidence, Pip. I feel so much better now.” Jamie kicked slush at her half-heartedly. 

She dodged with a short laugh, hiking her backpack a little higher on her shoulders. They passed Monty’s house with twin noises of disappointment — he’d left earlier to walk to school with Cupcake — and did the same when they rounded the corner of the neighborhood and left Caleb’s and Claude’s house — and the suburbs — behind. 

It was the first day of school in Burgess, and despite an early and unexpected snowstorm the night before, the district made the determined decision to avoid a snow day so early in the year. Consequently, the children streaming in to the main school assembly hall were bundled up in bright winter coats, hats, and boots. Jamie looked out across the sea of hats and earmuffs and, drawing to a halt, sighed. 

Pippa stopped beside him. “Worried?” She asked, looking at his face closely. 

“About the clock? Yeah, kind of a lot,” he rejoined lightly. 

“I mean about starting junior high, you dork.” 

Jamie snorted. “Please. Worried? I can’t wait.” 

“Will you meet me by the library when you have your schedule? I want to see if we have any classes together.” 

“You’ve probably got all tenth grade classes,” Jamie said. “I’m lucky if I made it in to pre-algebra.” 

“Yeah, right. I bet we’ll have Latin together. Cupcake said almost nobody signs up for it.” 

“Hopefully. I know I wouldn’t be any good at it on my own.” Jamie laughed. 

They separated for a school assembly directed at the new seventh-graders, during which Jamie successfully located Monty. 

“Pip and I missed you this morning,” Jamie said by way of greeting, plopping down next to his friend. “Why’d you leave so early with Cupcake?” 

Monty’s face, already blotchy from the cold, went bright red. “She promised to show me around before school started. Where is Pippa, anyway?” 

“She had to talk to one of the counselors about something to do with her schedule.” 

“Oh. Are she gonna meet us somewhere to sit together?” 

“No, but we’re going to meet by the library after the assembly. You should come, we’ll see if we have any classes together.” 

“Sorry, I’m meeting Cupcake once I have my schedule. She’s gonna show me where to find my classes.” 

“Geeze, it’s like she’s your babysitter or something,” Jamie laughed. 

“Shut up,” Monty grumbled, avoiding Jamie’s eyes. 

The assembly itself was long, boring, but informative, and afterwards Jamie joined the line for kids’ whose last names started with “B” to get his schedule. It took him a while to find the library, but Pippa was by the entrance, exactly where she’d faithfully promised to be. Relieved, Jamie joined her.

“So did you get the classes you wanted?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I did! What about you?” 

“I got second choices for third and fifth period.”

“Lemme see.”

They swapped schedules and were delighted to find they did, indeed, have Latin I together for first period. 

“Too bad that’s it,” Pippa said, handing Jamie’s schedule back. 

“You’re all in AP classes though,” Jamie pointed out. “No way I’d make it in any of those.” 

“You just need to apply yourself.”

“You say that like it’s so simple — hey, watch it!” 

A group of kids had plowed through Jamie and Pippa on their way into the library, knocking Jamie to the ground. One of them, a teenager that stood head and shoulders over Jamie, stopped and turned around. “The hell you said?” he demanded, standing over Jamie. 

Jamie propped himself up on his elbows and frowned. He wasn’t easily intimidated by nature, but he knew he couldn’t defend himself very well from the ground. The teenager must have figured this out, because he placed a foot firmly over the sleeve of Jamie’s coat, partially trapping him on the ground. 

“I said,” the teenager repeated, “what the hell did you just say to me?” 

“I said watch it. You just totally barged right into us.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been in the way, pipsqueak. Hey, are you even old enough to be here? You can’t be any older than ten.” 

Jamie scowled and yanked his sleeve free. “I’m 12, thanks.” 

The teenager picked up Jamie’s schedule before he could get to it. “All in baby classes, I see. Ooh, you and me got Phys Ed together. Ain’t that sweet, we gonna meet up again every Tuesday and Thursday.” 

“Great,” Jamie snatched his schedule back. The teenager moved as if to keep it out of Jamie’s reach, but he was too fast. 

“Is there a problem, William?” Cucake’s voice broke the brief silence that had settled over the little group of teens at the library door. Looking around, Jamie realized a small half-circle had formed around them; it dissipated when Cupcake stepped through it. 

“Cupcaaaake,” the teenager, William, drawled. “Baby, good to see you. Nothing goin’ on here, just some shrimp got himself knocked on the floor.” 

“Then get out of my way.” 

“I’m gone, babe. Hey, see you in English, huh? Let’s go, guys.” The teenager and his friends left without further incident. 

Pippa was suddenly at Jamie’s side. “You alright?” she asked softly, eyes wide. 

“Yeah, totally,” Jamie said, and meant it. He’d run in to his fair share of bullies before, and they’d never been much of a problem for him — or at least, not for long. Generally, other kids liked Jamie Bennett; he was a difficult kid to push around if only by virtue of charisma. 

“That was William—“ Cupcake quirked two fingers of both hands in imitation of quotes— “the Almost Youngest. Stay away from him, he’s trouble. You okay, Jamie?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jamie smiled, brushing himself off. William the Almost Youngest, huh? He had a feeling that kid wouldn’t be a problem.

“I didn’t see any of you at the assembly this morning,” Pippa said, referring to Cupcake and Monty, who was hovering at her side. 

“We were a little late and had to stand in the back,” Cupcake explained. Monty nodded vigorously beside her. “Which classes have you got? Need me to show you where to find your second period is?” 

While Cupcake and Pippa bent their heads over Pippa’s schedule, and Cupcake was promising to introduce Pippa to one of the girls in her AP Chem class, Monty and Jamie swapped schedules and glumly acknowledged that they had no classes together. 

“But you’ve got two with Pippa,” Jamie said, complaining just a little. It wasn’t that he disliked being alone among strangers for any amount of time, particularly, but it felt unfair that all his friends seemed to have classes together while he only had the likes of William the Almost Youngest to look forward to. And Latin. 

“I don’t have any with Cupcake, though,” Monty lamented. “I think I heard Sascha has almost every class with her. It’s not fair.” 

“Who’s Sascha?” 

“Oh, you haven’t met her yet. I think you’d like her, supposedly she’s into ghosts and stuff. I heard she was the medium at a séance last year for a group of eighth graders.” 

“Séance?” 

“Yeah, you know, when you talk to ghosts? Way creepy. Oh, crud — see you later,” Monty added as the period bell rang. 

Cupcake guided Monty and Jamie to their classrooms and then departed with Pippa. 

Fortunately, the rest of the day was uneventful — although Jamie couldn’t shake the idea of the séance once Monty had introduced it. 

He couldn’t help but think of the clock in the upstairs hallway, and wonder.

* * *

_What is a seance?_

Jamie typed his queries into the computer’s default search engine in the library after school. He’d have to be mindful of his time — he needed to catch a bus to pick up Sophie — but he was intent on learning more about this séance thing. He’d always believed in the less-acknowledged things in life, such as the Guardians, but rarely thought much about ghosts. It wasn’t until after his stepdad had died that he paid the subject much interest, and that only because Christopher Graves’s clock hadn’t begun working — sporadically, admittedly — until after he’d died. It made Jamie wonder. 

_A séance or seance is an attempt to communicate with spirits, typically through a medium._

He didn’t think his stepdad was haunting his old clock or anything — he hadn’t liked it enough, Jamie was sure of it. His mom might adore the thing because it reminded her of her second husband (she didn’t have anything like that for her first husband, Jamie couldn’t help but notice bitterly), but Christopher himself had once told Jamie that its only redeeming quality was “personality.” 

“It’s a piece of junk,” Jamie had told Christopher frankly. 

“Yes, it is,” Christopher had agreed, chuckling. “Keeps in common with all family heirlooms, though, doesn’t it?” 

_The medium, psychic, or clairvoyant would sense if any dangers are present and close off any communication before harm was done._

What Jamie needed was to figure out what the deal was with the clock. And if anybody knew what was going on with the clock, it would be Christopher. The only questions left, then, were whether or not it would be worth it to contact Christopher’s spirit, and if Jamie really wanted to talk to his stepdad again. 

He didn’t. He really, really didn’t. 

_The séance has a colorful history of being run by charlatans, who typically employed rapping noises and moving tables to scare their clients._

Jamie sighed and shut the computer down. He checked out a couple books on the subject and vacated the school. At home, he dropped his backpack by the door and went straight for the kitchen to put together a portable snack for Sophie. His first destination was the bowl of apples on the kitchen table, but it was empty. Mom must have done something with them, he found himself thinking, because it was full in the morning. He turned to the fridge and was rummaging through the bottom shelf when he heard something behind him -- like a small, light _thump_. 

He stopped, then looked over his shoulder slowly. There was something different about the kitchen. He looked around, sweeping the room slowly. He couldn't see anything different, couldn't tell what it was... _there_. There were apples on the kitchen table. Not in the bowl, just... there, in a loose pile on the side closest to Jamie. As he watched, one apple rolled slowly toward him and then fell off the table, bouncing twice on the floor before rolling to a stop. 

Jamie stared, spooked, and then closed the fridge and forced himself to approach the table. The apple on the floor didn't move, but Jamie found himself watching it as if he expected it to. There was nothing physically strange about the apples. Nothing to indicate they hadn't existed a moment before. 

He wanted to be out of that kitchen. He wanted to be out of the _house_. Jamie grabbed two of the apples a little defiantly and locked the door behind him. He walked to the nearest city bus stop and took the next bus to Hawthorne.

* * *

Nights seemed darker lately. Because winter was coming, maybe.

Jamie stared blearily at the alarm clock on his nightstand. The numbers glowed a deep blue, bright enough to make the surrounding darkness look black. Two-twenty-three A.M. The numbers were blinking as if the power had gone out, bathing his room in alternate shades of blue - black - blue - black - blue. Next to his clock was an open book. 

Jamie pushed himself upright and put his weight on one hand while he reached for the book with the other. He didn’t remember leaving a book open on the table, but he had been up late reading the books he’d checked out. The spine said, Magic and the Occult: A Spirit Guide’s Companion and it was open to the eighth chapter: Channelling Spirits. 

The book was familiar but Jamie didn’t remember taking it from the library. He sat up fully and pulled the book into his lap. Flipping through it produced no further memories on obtaining it, so he shut it and put it back on his bedside table to deal with in the morning. 

Next, Jamie reached for his clock — no way he’d be able to get back to sleep with it flashing like that — when it suddenly stopped flashing, and then shut off. Jamie heard a soft, distant whirr, as if the fridge or something had also shut off. He looked at his window, but the night was clear — no snow, no wind, no reason the power should go off. 

“Weird,” he muttered, more to hear his voice than anything. It came out sounding smaller than he would have liked. 

The abrupt sound of a bong nearby startled Jamie. He pressed a fist to his mouth, breathing heavily, and looked sideways at his door. It stood open a few inches (hadn’t he closed it?) and a faint light spilled through from the hallway. The bong repeated itself — Christopher’s clock was going off again, louder than it ever had before. The bongs stopped, were followed by a high, discordant chiming, and then silence. 

Jamie pushed his sheets down and climbed out of bed. He was really sick of this clock business. 

Standing in front of the clock, Jamie had to admit it had a certain amount of coolness to its design. Out stood about six feet tall and was hand carved out of some kind of dark, dense wood. Along the sides were birds, shaped with painstaking detail to be flying upwards,their wings interlocking around the base. Jamie thought they looked like crows in the darkness; carved with a lifelike aspect which, while it made the clock a work of art during the day, also made it feel alive during the night, as if the crows were alive, trapped in their prison of wood and glass and watching Jamie with a soft sort of menace. 

God, he hated this clock. 

It was silent and frozen now, like it usually was during the day. Jamie reached out and ran his fingers lightly over the front of the structure, shuddering when he accidentally brushed against a crow’s clawed foot. 

The lights flickered downstairs, catching Jamie’s attention. He left the clock and ventured one step at a time down the stairwell, passing through into the living room and pausing in the kitchen doorway. A small lamp was on, nothing else; his mom was laying slumped on the couch, her head lolling against the back of the couch and her glasses held in a loose grip in one hand. She sighed, startling Jamie; he’d thought she was asleep. 

“Mom?” he asked, entering the room and approaching her on silent feet. She gave a little start and opened her eyes, just a little. 

“Jamie,” she said, and sighed again. “Oh, Jamie, I am… _so_ … tired.” 

Jamie paused. “Are you alright?” he asked, a slow sense of foreboding winding its way down his back. “Mom?” 

She turned her head toward him without opening her eyes. “My poor baby,” she said softly. Jamie felt his stomach drop. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. 

“Mom,” he repeated, “hey, what’s wrong? Can I get you… get you an Advil, or…” 

The lamp light flickered again, and went out. The living room became preternaturally dark. 

Jamie groped his way blindly into the couch, feeling for his mom, but she wasn’t there. “Mom?” he whispered. 

Something flittered out of the corner of his eye and was accompanied by a strange, throaty cackling noise. Jamie jumped and turned, struggling to see in the darkness. Upstairs, the clock went off — three chimes, and then silence. There was a strange shifting of movement in the darkness, like something small was moving around— 

Something cackled directly behind Jamie, causing him to jump and stumble backwards onto the couch — it was a bird, there were birds in the house — and Jamie suddenly thought of the clock, of crows that were trapped in wood during the day. He rolled over, gathered his shaky feet, and hurried for the staircase, bumping into things on the way. 

The clock went off. 

Jamie mounted the top stair and swung around to look down the hall. It was dark, but not so dark he couldn’t see in the muted light from outside — not dark like the pool of inky blackness shifting below him — and the clock was gone. 

It was gone. 

Jamie cleared the stairwell and ran for his room, slamming the door behind him. His light flickered when he tripped the switch, but it turned on, blinding him momentarily. He waited several minutes for his breathing to slow and then pressed his ear to his door. Faintly, he could detect the movements of the birds, the faint, occasional caw of a crow. 

Jamie took several deep breaths, steeled himself, and opened his door again. The light from his room lit up the hallway, and there, where it had always been, was the clock. Jamie stared without approaching it, holding his breath. He heard a faint scratch, like a bird’s foot on wood — and he very carefully closed his door again. He sat up the rest of his night with his back pressed against it. 

It wasn’t a dream, it couldn’t have been, because he was still awake when he stood up again to wake his mother.

* * *

From what he was able to glean on his own, Jamie learned Sascha Claussen was young, probably still in grade school, and her parents were almost as rich as Caleb’s and Claude’s.

Jamie tugged on Monty’s backpack during the break between fourth period and lunch, whereupon Monty obliged him by leading Jamie to the cafeteria and pointing out a tall, somewhat disheveled-looking middle-eastern boy in eighth grade. “I’ve heard him talking about her before with some other kids,” he said. “His name is Fog. Talking to him would be a start, at least,” Monty reasoned, and bade Jamie goodbye as the late bell rang. 

Jamie wasn’t able to get ahold of Fog during lunch period — which they evidently didn’t share — and despite wandering down halls he normally didn’t during his breaks, Jamie didn’t see him for the rest of the day.

When the last bell had rung Jamie found himself heading down the main hallway toward the school’s front doors, Pippa walking comfortably beside him. “You look tired,” she observed after they’d gathered their things from their lockers and joined the river of teens leaving the building. “Were you up late last night?” 

Jamie was just about to relate everything that had happened when something — or rather, someone appeared for a moment at the corner of his eye and then vanished. Jamie stopped and turned his head, searching — and found him. It was Fog. He was leaning against the doorway to a classroom, infrequently invisible behind students as they streamed in and out, chattering. 

“Hang on a sec,” Jamie said. “There’s something I’ve got to do.” 

“What is it?” Pippa asked, but didn’t push the issue when Jamie only shook his head and hurried away. 

The boy was engrossed in his phone and didn’t notice Jamie standing in front of him at first. 

“Uh, hi,” Jamie said; the boy started, looked up, and raised his eyebrows. “I’m Jamie Bennett. Are you, uh… Fog?” 

“Yeah, that’s me.” 

“Hi,” Jamie repeated, feeling stupid. “I’m looking for a girl, Sascha Claussen, and I think you know her. Monty, my friend, he has Algebra with you, and he mentioned you’d talked about her a few times during class.” 

“Okay…” 

Unable to resist, Jamie finally blurted, “is your name really Fog?” 

Fog shrugged. “Nah. But it’s a long story. Why d’you need this girl, anyway? I think she’s already taken for the Halloween dance, if that’s what you want.” 

“I don’t want to ask her out,” Jamie said, surprised. “And I won’t be able to go to the elementary building until Friday, anyway,” he added in a grumble. Sophie’s school had half-days on fridays and a their mom picked her up, leaving Jamie free to spend his after-school time however he wanted. But he wasn’t looking forward to attacking the elementary school in search of one little kid who might know something about séances. 

“You… do mean Sascha, right? I think her homeroom is with Ms. Marron.” Fog said, frowning a little. 

“She goes to school here?”

“Yeah, man. She skipped a grade. She’s in seventh.” 

“That’s cool,” Jamie said, and meant it. He’d never met someone who was smart enough to skip a grade. Then again, he thought, Pippa probably was, but she’d never said anything about it. He also (if he had to admit it to himself) felt better about not having to ask a little kid for help. There was just something inherently wrong about that. “Hey, d’you think you could introduce me to her?” 

“Introduce who?” Another boy joined them; he was olive-skinned and dark-eyed, too, but the resemblance with Fog ended there. “Hi, I’m Petter,” he said by way of greeting. 

“I’m Jamie. I’m looking for Sascha Claussen.” 

There was something bright in Petter’s face, like his eyes were always laughing. Jamie couldn’t help but smile simply by virtue of being near him. 

“Why?” Petter laughed. “What do you want with my sister?” 

“Your sister?”

“Yeah, she’s my kid sis. Hard to believe, right? I heard Fog telling you she’s in junior high with us and everything. Awesome.” 

Jamie laughed, too, a little nervously. “Okay. Well. This might sound crazy, but— but I think my house is haunted and I heard Sascha has done some séance stuff before.” 

“She isn’t a dog,” Fog said curtly, startling Jamie. “You can’t just snap your fingers and expect her to host a party of ghost tricks for you.” 

“Dude,” said Petter, “let him explain.” 

“I’m sorry, that’s all I’ve got,” Jamie admitted, unsure as to why Fog was suddenly irritated. “I need help with a ghost and I don’t know who else to go to.” 

Fog made his viewpoint exceedingly clear. “Like I said. Look, just leave Sascha alone. She’s had enough of this party freak crap.” 

“It’s Sascha’s choice if she wants to help him.” Petter said. 

“Kids have been pulling this crap with her all year,” Fog rejoined. “She’s sick of it and you know it. Jamie, seriously, sorry about your ghost thing but Sascha has more important things to do.” 

Petter rolled his eyes heavenward. “You can be such a jerk,” he said lightly, but there was no venom in the words and Fog did not appear offended. 

“You could try out the big brother mantle for once,” Fog muttered, but he seemed to think for a moment, then shrugged. 

“Sascha doesn’t need protecting.” Petter said, smiling. “But yeah, Jamie, sorry — can’t help you. If you want to talk to Sascha you’ll have to do it yourself.” 

“Okay,” Jamie said, thinking he should be annoyed despite Petter’s infectious laughter, “thanks anyway.” 

Pippa was waiting for Jamie at the end of the hall. He headed in her direction, feeling even more dismal about the whole affair with every step. 

“What was that all about?” she asked when he drew alongside her. 

Jamie looked over his shoulder; Petter and Fog were gone. He sighed. “I don’t suppose,” he said, “you know a girl named Sascha Claussen, do you?” 

“Actually, yeah.” 

“What?” Jamie stared at her. “You know her? Can you introduce me?” 

“I don’t know her that well; we have AP Chem together. And I guess I could. Why?” 

Jamie was finally at liberty to tell her about what had happened the night before, and what he’d heard about Sascha. 

“I’ve heard stuff like that about her, too,” Pippa admitted on the subject of Sascha, “but Jamie, your house isn’t haunted. There’s no such thing as ghosts. I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for everything that happened.” 

“Like what? I dreamed the whole thing up?” 

“Maybe. You have to admit it’s a possibility.” 

“It wasn’t a dream, I swear. It’s real and it really happened, or I’m losing my mind.” 

Pippa sighed. “I have chess club after school tomorrow, but if you meet me by the chem lab in the morning I’ll try to get Sascha to come.” 

Jamie lit up. “Thanks, Pip, you’re the best!” 

She smiled. “I know.”


End file.
